Anachronisms
by speakingintothevoid
Summary: After Bucky's return, Tony Stark throws a massive, 1940s themed surprise party for Steve. Dinner, dancing, and war stories ensue as Bucky tries to find his place. Mostly written before the CACW release, see this as a happier (and spoiler-free) version of events. (EDITED AND FORMALLY TITLED ASSASSIN'S LEAD) Dedicated to all those broken by Sebastian Stan's performance.
1. Chapter 1

Tony Stark's idea of a tasteful Christmas present was an obscenely large, custom-made bunny rabbit with arms that looked like boobs.

Pepper Potts reminded herself of this, breathing deeply. Why had she imagined that any of his gifts would be subtle or tasteful? When he had told her, two weeks ago, that he was embarking on creating the world's greatest birthday present for Steve, she was honestly just relieved that he was keeping busy. She had been in Moscow for two weeks, embroiled in company politics, and he had been markedly more stir-crazy than usual since Bruce had disappeared. He needed something to take his time. How much damage could he possibly cause in two weeks?

Now, as she walked into the warehouse-turned-ballroom Tony had made over for the birthday party, she realized the magnitude of her mistake.

Tony had thrown Steve a birthday party straight out of the 1940s. The food and drinks, the light fixtures and band, even the tacky red-white-and-blue decorations on the walls were historically accurate. A catering staff bustled around in full costume and hundreds of thousands of dollars' worth of period clothes hung on a rack in the corner, hand-made and custom tailored to every arriving guest.

"Tony…" she breathed, clutching his arm as she looked in wonder around the anachronistic ballroom. "Tony, this is…"

"Amazing. Beautiful. A killer nomination for 'friend of the year' award?" he deadpanned, following her eyes to the rack of clothes. "If you like this, wait 'til you see your dress! Or, even better, wait 'til I see you in your dress."

She leaned her face closer to his ear as a waiter passed by. "Tony, this is inappropriate!"

He turned and looked at her and something in his face deflated, growing still. Her stomach twisted, but she had to continue. "I mean, Steve has lost all of this. This was his world and he lost it, this is going to be a shock to him, it's not appropriate to-"

"A shock!" he agreed, his face lighting up again boyishly. "That's what surprise parties are for! Trust me honey, he may need a minute to adjust, but this will be the best night of his life! His best friend is home, it's the most patriotic day of the year, and he gets a Stark party just for him!" A server came up, insistent, and Tony dropped a cheerful kiss on Pepper's cheek. "Trust me," he chirped, and sped off.

"Bucky," Pepper sighed, remembering. She sat down abruptly on a hand-made, wooden chair. Bucky was just another reason why this whole thing was out of line. What would it be like for _him_ to see this? She knew what Steve wanted, what he had sought ever since his best friend's return. He wanted quiet, safety, and time alone with his friend while he rehabilitated. It had been difficult enough for Tony to convince the two of them to come out tonight "for a few hours" and now they were going to be thrown into this.

How could she ever have underestimated how much her genius boyfriend could accomplish in two weeks?

Natasha appeared behind her, leaning against the wall, pulling on a red curl and surveying the room with a suspicious familiarity. One arm draped around her waist, belting a 1940's style emerald green dress with a low-cut halter top and a full skirt for dancing. She looked just as comfortable and relaxed in this getup as she had in any of the many other costumes/outfits Pepper had seen her in over the years. Natasha's skin seemed to exist in a liquid state, taking on the shape of whatever container she poured herself into.

"Tony Stark has no subtlety," Nat commented, rubbing one black dancing shoe on the ground. "When he loves something, he just explodes his heart all over it, doesn't he?"

Pepper sighed and came to lean against the wall next to the superspy. "I need to get changed if people are already arriving," she eyed the room one last time. "I just don't want Steve to completely panic."

Nat smiled at her, her green eyes set like jewels by the dress and a smoky eye that could almost make Pepper jealous. "This is hardly the most unsettling thing the old man has seen since he fell out of the sky," she commented. "It's Barnes he'll be worried about."  
Barnes. There it was again. Pepper scowled at herself in a dressing room mirror. Tony had set up six of these identical rooms lining the hallway from the entry to the ballroom so every guest could be properly outfitted before entering. It was also historically accurate, of course. She shimmied into a rich blue dress and shooed away a stylist who was showing her pictures of period hairstyles that could be accomplished in fifteen minutes or less.

Thoughtfully, Pepper pinned up her own hair and slipped on a pair of silver shoes, wondering when Tony had first learned all of her sizes, and how he had obtained everyone else's.

Bucky. She still hadn't met him yet, properly. She had seen photos and video at the Smithsonian. He and Steve had been the perfect pair of blond/brunette heartbreakers, but even in his smiles, she saw a ferocity that aligned more with his assassin years than with Steve's childhood best friend. This was the sort of man who would survive against all odds. At least, so they hoped.

The stylist had appeared again with a tray of darker lipsticks than the shades to which she was used and this time she smiled at the girl and selected one.

Steve had kept Bucky very close since he had gotten him back, squirreled him away quietly, fighting off the shrinks tooth and nail. This would be Barnes' first time out in public and they were expecting a quiet dinner. She wondered how quickly the fragile mind might break. No matter how stubborn he had seemed to be back then, how kind and brave and bold, as Steve so often described him, he could hardly help but be glass-like now. A big-band Stark party, full of the world's most powerful and charismatic people, with him as the sole stranger in their midst, as well as an extremely recent threat… it could not end well. A quick mental slide-show showed her several equally plausible outcomes of the evening. One where the man flipped out and began attacking all of his former enemies, Thor pinning him to a wall and bellowing, another version where he broke down and wept upon entering the room so like his former life. And another version where he simply dissolved, disappeared during the evening, never to be found again.

Pepper glanced hastily in the mirror and slid from the room.

Thor was stepping out of another dressing room as she vacated hers, and he descending on her with a loud, affectionate greeting. "And here is the lady of the evening!" He exclaimed, bending over her hand. He looked actually breathtaking in a throwback tuxedo, his long hair swept back. Jane slipped out behind him and the two women flew to each other affectionately.

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Jane murmured in her ear as they hugged.

"It's far too late now!" Pepper said cheerfully, finding herself actually relieved at the realization. "And congratulations!" she exclaimed aloud as they stepped back.

"Congratulations for which honor?" Thor inquired triumphantly, while Jane jabbed him painlessly in the ribs.

"For whichever prize or medal or award is the most recent," Pepper beamed.

"Let's get this party started!" Clint shouted hoarsely from behind them in a passable frat boy imitation, barreling through the entrance in jeans and a button-down.

The next fifteen minutes were spent trying to convince him that he needed to change before entering the party, and the next fifteen after that to get him out of the dressing rooms and to stop harassing the stylist about his hair. Pepper stepped instantly into her hostess role and everything quickly became a blur. Nothing was quite as smothering as an Avengers party with so many big personalities darting everywhere: trying to get Scott comfortable, helping Vision and Wanda to find each other since neither was fully comfortable alone, encouraging Clint and Sam to stop bounding around in relentless excitement while flipping up to the light fixtures and tasting everything in the bar and the kitchen. Speaking with the caterers, answering the band, answering the stylists.

Steve was late. Everyone else stood, groomed and period-ready: Jane and Thor looking regal, Clint and Sam whispering to each other like little kids, Vision and Wanda slightly huddled together, Bruce Banner still conspicuously absent, Scott pulling awkwardly at his clothes and side-eyeing Natasha who stood by the door, the only one who at least looked fully at ease.

There were others there too, of course, mostly older friends like Lady Sif and Darcy, and several SHIELD agents for both friendship and security. Everyone looked amazing in the dim light, even Vision who looked other-worldly in context, like a time-traveling alien (Clint had whispered something to Natasha that included the word "Terminator" and was quickly encouraged not to speak again). There was tension among a select few in the group. Most of them, like Jane, had voiced their concerns in an undertone to Pepper and she had tried to put them as ease, but the anxiety grew as Steve and Bucky were still absent.

Pepper stood next to Tony, the true power couple, poised and confident outside, but her coiffed head buzzed with concern. What if Barnes had a panic attack? What if Steve had caught wind of what was coming? What if there had been an accident?

"Hush!" Tony shouted into the dead silence of the group as the whispering hum of a car, part of the Stark Armada, pulled up outside. Pepper experienced a moment of overwhelming doubt, along with some excitement at finally laying eyes on the famous James Buchanan Barnes. She took a short pull on her champagne flute and put it down.

They all heard voices outside the door, and then Steve's, strong and clear, speaking to the chauffeur.

"Just through the door, sir, you'll find him," the boy replied, sounding squeaky and terrified, like most civilians did around the Captain.

"Thank you, son." The man replied, and he seemed to offer money because the boy exclaimed, "Oh no, sir, thank you, sir!" And then the car started up again, too quickly, and drove off, too fast.

There was a conversational undertone of voices outside and the outer door opened. Well, he speaks at least. Pepper considered, taking Tony's hand.

The shuffling footsteps paused behind the second door, "What's this?"

It must have been Bucky's voice, and it sounded stronger and younger than she would have expected. Suddenly, her fear of him evaporated. This was no ghost, no frigid soldier of darkness and death and winter. This was a young man, Steve's age, a soldier of the Golden Generation who had suffered… what exactly had he suffered? This was a mistake…

Steve's strong laugh rang out quietly. "Oh no, brace yourself. It's what I thought, Tony's - " and his voice dropped below audibility.

The second door was pushed in suddenly from the outside and the band struck up a loud, celebratory sound. Everyone shouted, lifting champagne flutes, and confetti scattered down over their newly styled heads.

Steve and Bucky stopped dead in the doorway, Bucky springing back slightly from the blast of sound in a way most inhabitants of the room recognized from personal experience. Steve's back went rigid, staring at Tony, and he immediately turned to his friend, as a flood of people pushed forward to shake his hand and welcome him in. Bucky turned to him and gave him the tiniest smile, standing back stiffly in parade rest, and Pepper realized she had stopped breathing when she began to breathe again.

The flood poured over Steve, people calling out different names ("Cap! Steve! Rogers!") as they seized his hand, showed off their outfits, or pulled him in to pound him on the back. Bucky was the rock they ebbed around, everyone giving him an overly cautious berth, and somehow it was Pepper who saved him. Seizing a fresh drink, she pushed easily towards him, locking eyes with him from a sufficient distance to telegraph her approach. Despite his easy stance, his eyes were very wide and his breath sagged low in his lungs as he stood and she let herself stand close to him, an offered anchor.

"Do you drink?" she called, over the noise.

He seemed to hesitate, and she wondered suddenly if he knew. "Yes ma'am," he replied quietly.

Her face gentled again and she smiled at him, a born hostess, "I'm Pepper Potts, Tony's – girlfriend, babysitter, mediator – depends on the day. I'm afraid I have to recommend the champagne as the only way to endure the chaos of a Stark party."

Before he knew what was happening, the drink was in his hand and he was being whisked away, spun neatly into a corner, and deposited in a comfortable chair. He blinked up at the redhead and she suddenly decided her best approach was absolute honesty.

"I hope you don't consider this to be insensitive. Tony has yet to master the gift of subtlety."

"I'd gathered that," the man replied, his eyes roaming restlessly around the room, "from the bright red suit."


	2. Chapter 2

Wanda and Vision were slow dancing in a corner of the ballroom. There was a strange understanding between them. They had spent many days together after the fall of Sokovia. The twin had lost half herself, and the android was building himself from the beginning. They built together, slowly at first. Despite his human frame, he had trouble resting at night, and her nightmares drove her awake night after night. She would come in search of him, and Tony or Pepper would come down in the morning and find the girl curled up on his shoulder, asleep. Once, the two of them were making breakfast, Wanda covered in flour and Vision staring in great contemplation at an egg. He could speak to her in her native language and they started a habit of murmuring to each other privately in corners, as she introduced him to jigsaw puzzles, or hairbrushes, or analog clocks. He was always eager to learn and slow to pass judgement, very aware of his own youth and of the edges of his knowledge. No one felt comfortable speaking of their relationship as definitively sexual or romantic, but it involved a very deep, very obvious bond. The team respected it, and acknowledged it as mutually beneficial, and a few even envied the ease with which they occupied each other's time.

They both seemed inhuman tonight, she in a silver dress with scarlet shoes, her hair pulled up and back and then flowing heavily down her white shoulders. She leaned on him and his head ducked down to her, a surreal blend of modern colors and patterns in a period tuxedo. Anyone who danced nearby could see a faint smile on her lips as he murmured into her ear, swaying vaguely to the music.

Lady Sif and Agent Sharon Carter stood over by the buffet table, sampling Midgardian fruits and unmistakably shit-talking. The two women had forged an instant connection, and leaned back on the table in happy ease, pointing out various couples and individuals on the dance floor while laughing heartily. The women were protectors who rarely had a chance to let down their guard, and, in a room full of super-powered humanoids, in a hall no doubt surrounded by the best of human and robot bodyguards, they could relax. They exchanged stories of their worlds, demonstrated their favorite scars and battle wounds, and laughed hysterically at Sam and Darcy who were leading the pack of dancers with more enthusiasm than skill.

Up near the band at the front of the hall, a dance instructor led a small crowd in historical dances. Couples, either romantically involved or simple cobbled together for the sake of the dance, stepped to the rhythm of loud music and raucous laughter. Tony's champagne had considerably lightened any pretense of dignity in the room. Thor alone scowled with concentration, the size difference between him and Jane complicating their dance, as the slight woman clung to his arms and howled with laughter at his attempts. He was a good dancer in his own world, and slightly resented the much calmer, and more restrained motions of "ancient Midgard".

Tony and Pepper moved easily, dancing was a favorite of hers and he had taken the trouble to pre-familiarize himself with the new steps they were learning tonight. She laughed with him now, because it was impossible not to laugh when he was happy and flirty and having fun, but her eyes still wandered a little to some of the more nerve-wracking party guests. Her stomach twisted when she realized that Bucky was still sitting alone where she had left him, but now he leaned forward slightly, watching the dancing with interested eyes, especially Cap and Natasha.

Cap had remained at Bucky's side longer than was appropriate given that he was the guest of honor. Pepper had come over to them to beckon the Captain to the dance floor and she danced one song with him. Nat had been watching from the wall and when Tony came to intercept Pepper, Steve looked around and saw her with evident relief. Much to the appreciation of the floor, he walked over to her, bowed eloquently and kissed her hand, asking her to dance. They were a stunning pair, and stood at the front of the room, directly in front of the band. The dance instructor swirled off eventually, with Clint, who was determined to perfect his motions, and everyone was left to put their moves together however they liked to a stellar assortment of big-band and jazz.

Bucky was not the only one watching Cap and Nat. Every eye in the room was starting to gravitate towards the competitive pair as they stood at the front of the dance floor. She put her little hands on his shoulders and they lost themselves in a stubborn determination to master every move. Occasionally they would slightly collide, pull back to regroup, fiercely discuss what had gone wrong and then slowly move back into the dance. Soon they had a sequence of moves that worked well and the band was watching them, grinning as wide as anyone else. They allowed the music to lift bigger and bigger, swelling and lifting the two of them as they danced. It didn't take long for the pair to realize that lifts were easy for them. Steve would lift her up and she dipped and curved in the air over his head. Soon they were laughing, moving faster and faster in the now heated ballroom. Near the end of their third song, every other dancer formed a circle around them, clapping and hooting as they spun around each other. The band ended in a clash of percussion and they bowed, suddenly aware of their audience.

As Steve lifted up, Nat felt, through his fingers, his anxiety crash over him. His heartrate was elevated from the unusual exercise and he saw all eyes on him, the room's décor filling his mind with memories not at all welcome. His panicked eyes sought out Bucky as an anchor and he saw the man sitting, now withdrawn back into the chair – and suddenly everything was wrong.

The tall, handsome, swaggering best friend who had clapped him on the shoulder, picked them up dates every weekend, and watched his small friend with cautious, watchful eyes was now… this. It was so difficult to tell what he remembered, but there were waves of age which crashed over him at certain moments and drove a deep gulf in between them. All those years which Steve had lost, lived so desperately. He looked much the same, his fierce beauty, sturdy frame and deep, thoughtful eyes remained so that sometimes it was easy to mistake him for Sergeant Barnes. But not his humor, fast and wry, his big laugh, throwing back his head and shouting, his easy generosity and rock hard morality that had so shaped Steve's. No these were relics, memories as old and absurd as the room in which he now sat. This was not his Bucky, the man sitting in the chair, a half-filled champagne flute at his elbow, one hand half shielding his mouth, deep eyes cautiously surveying the room. Bucky in social situations was always in the middle, wild and flirtatious, humans hanging off of him with glowing eyes, laughing and drinking and dancing - he was so good at dancing. His eyes would always peel off every few minutes to watch his shrunken friend, sitting quietly alone with his strange opinions on dance. " _The right partner_ ". Now Steve was the one in the middle and it felt wrong, more wrong than the hairstyles and the old shoes, and the light fixtures, this was wrong. Bucky – Sergeant Barnes – was gone.

Steve's fingers clenched on Natasha's and she read it instantly, spinning in front of him as though as a finalizing dance move. "Steve!" She hissed, drawing her hand down his face elegantly, forcing his eyes down to hers. Her face was still and serious, "I've got him. You need to go talk to Agent 13, ok? Okay, Steve, listen to me." Her tone of voice was fierce and level, like an officer calming a battle-shocked boy in a warzone.

His eyes calmed down. Her poise was a lifeline, he centered on her.

"Agent 13," he repeated, unsure.

"She wants to dance with you. Ask her!"

"Nat, this isn't the time to..."

"Captain," her eyebrow quirked. "Trust me."

"Yes ma'am." His eyes trailed over her shoulder to Bucky one more time, whose own eyes had wandered off to watch the percussionist trying (and failing) to catch Nat's eye by spinning his drumsticks over his head. Then Steve obediently moved off to the buffet table, while Lady Sif unsubtly strode away from the agent in a sudden inspiration to seek out a stronger alcohol.

Natasha waited until Steve was engaged in conversation with the pretty agent and allowed herself to disappear against the wall for a moment, not an easy feat in a room where everyone was acutely aware of her. But one of her skills was to easily command the attention of a room and then as easily to shake it off. She moved towards Bucky, trying to swallow the evident curiosity in her face and sunk down next to him on the neighboring chair. His eyes followed her but the rest of his body remained still: cautious and tired in equal measure.

She ordered a whiskey from one of the least nervous servers who had allowed herself to move closer to Bucky than any of the others and she waited while the band struck up a new song, a slow dance this time, and Steve led his new partner to the floor.

"Are you waiting for me to speak first?" Barnes asked, watching her now with open curiosity.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you waiting for me to speak first?" Barnes asked, watching Natasha now with open curiosity.

Natasha reached up to take the whiskey from the nearly-trembling server with a quiet thanks and then turned to Bucky with a quick smile. "No, I actually came to ask you to dance."

He almost smiled. "'To dance?' You think I would be welcome out there?"

It wasn't the question she had anticipated, and she always appreciated that in a conversation partner. "Steve has been bragging on your dancing skills. He says you are the better of the two of you and I just wanted to verify his statement. I could order you a whiskey as well if it would make you more comfortable?"

He moved quickly, turning fully to her, smiled dangerously, and dropped his voice. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Widow?"

She smiled at him in wonder, impressed as much at the sudden changed in his attitude as at his use of her title. Perhaps Steve had not exaggerated his Casanova charms.

He chuckled and sat back again, eyes still on her, and she wondered suddenly how much of his apparent tiredness was due to boredom.

"It wouldn't be the first time we've danced. I remember," he said, briefly touching his neck where she had almost managed to slice it just weeks earlier.

"I wouldn't take that personally," she replied lightly. "I try to kill a lot of people." She was struggling to find his character, to become the person he needed right now. She had so little to work with.

He grunted. "I take it personally, but only because there isn't much I have to remember."

She sat in cautious silence.

"Who is that?" he asked, gesturing out to Steve's new partner.

"She's an agent. She was assigned to keep an eye on him. They don't know each other well, but I always try to get him to meet new people."

Bucky smiled again. "That's always a trick, isn't it?"

"If you have any tips, I'd be glad to hear them," she said with a sigh. "He's hopeless around women he actually wants to talk to."

"Always has been," Bucky responded, watching the pretty blondes spinning slowly. "I think the serum did more for him than we could ever do, honestly."

She looked at him sharply, "You think so? I would say his most defining character change was losing you. He had to grow up, fast."

Barnes sighed and arched his back into the chair and she decided to leave the point alone. He, however, squinted thoughtfully out on the floor and then said, "Yeah, I would count that moment as _my_ defining character change as well."

She was startled to see the sparkle in his eyes as he glanced at her. Dark humor it is then.  
He continued, looking at the floor. "But if we're asking for advice, I hear you're the person to talk to. I know you've been a big help here to Steve, but I think you and I may have more," he cleared his throat, "in common."

Ah. There it was then.

She smiled wryly. "So he keeps telling me."

"I know he asked you to come and talk to me a few nights ago. Am I that repellant that you couldn't come?"

"I'm not much of a counsellor."

"I thought you were anything you wanted to be," he returned quickly.

"Are you drying to draw blood, Sergeant Barnes?" she asked calmly.

"Is there any other way to honestly talk to you?"

The question was poorly worded enough to free her from the necessity an immediate reply. She finished her whiskey quickly and gestured for two more. They sat in silence for a few moments as the new song ended, watching Steve and 13 now dancing close to Wanda and Vision, both pairs lost in quiet conversation. When the drinks arrived, Natasha handed one to Bucky who eyed his and put it down on the arm of his chair. Natasha stared down into hers. It was so difficult to actually speak, to open up that canister of herself and draw something out. She coughed lightly and watched Thor and Jane bumping noses, Tony and Pepper giggling like teenagers.

"You…" She scowled and swirled her drink and he sat up, leaning towards her. "The reason I didn't come and speak to you is because you want to remember." She finished steadily, "I don't."

He surveyed her. "Do we have a choice in that?"

She lifted her glass in sarcastic salute. "Wow. You asked that like it's a question I can answer."

He caught the ghost of his smile in the corner of her eye. He picked up his drink and drained it quickly, rolling the empty glass between the fingers of his flesh hand.

"Alright," she said, as the band crashed into a new, swinging number. She stood briskly and he looked up. "I have an answer for you. The only one you'll get for a while."

He squared his shoulders, ready for her response, and she was struck by the intensity of his brunet beauty. It was as if he had been designed to complement Roger's golden glory. She reached her fingers down, insistent. "Dance with me." She tossed her head towards Steve in the corner. "Show him up. Teach these people how it's done. I promise you, it will break the ice." Her fingers reached out steadily as she wondered at the enormity of what she was asking. She and Tony were gambling the whole night on this.

Bucky hesitated, feeling Steve's eyes slide over to the image they presented: the woman in the green dress reaching down insistently to the man in the chair. He knew that Cap wasn't the only one watching, but he felt the pieces click into place in his mind.

 _Good._

 _Familiar._

 _This_.

Somehow, it had worked. This room, this light, this image. The gorgeous girl in the halter-top dress, red curls piled on her head, flirting comfortably while throwing back whiskey. This was a world he remembered and his metal fingers closed instinctively on hers.

"Yes ma'am," he answered, low in his throat, and he stood gracefully, following her to the floor. The crowd parted before them, the Russian assassins, dressed in 1940s formal wear. Romanov, head high and heels clicking and Barnes, no longer smiling, his eyes tracking her feet as though it was the only way to follow. She swirled to face him, and lifted her hands expectantly and he stepped forward to take them, feeling the eyes of the room boring into him like wasps.


	4. Chapter 4

She didn't, of course, lead him to the middle of the floor. She found the quietest corner the room could offer, but it did absolutely nothing to shield him from the room's attention. No one stopped dancing, but they continued somewhat forcefully and more quietly than before, eyes trailing off to the assassins every few seconds. But the band was heroically determined to cover up for the awkwardness and they performed this feat admirably.

Bucky stood in position and waited, his eyes drifting down suddenly, vacantly, towards Nat's collarbone. She paused, waiting for him to pull together. He looked up, blinking quickly, and smiled a little vaguely. "It's been a while," he said, in a light, nervous voice.

"It's been all of ten minutes for me," she said easily. "Shall I lead?"

He smiled again and bowed his head slightly, looking up again with a dangerous smile. "As a gentlemen, I could never allow it," he said, taking her hands.

Only Steve recognized the difference in the way Bucky moved. Sergeant Barnes had moved like a wildcat, fast and precise, energy bouncing from his eyes. It took a good partner to keep up. But now he was gentle with himself, occasionally unsure of the steps, cautious, and Steve's heart fell.

But that only lasted for the first few moments. Bucky miss-stepped and almost crashed into Nat, who smiled and lilted up onto her toes to whisper in his ears. "Come on Barnes. Impress a girl."

His awkwardness vanished at the words, and an interest came back into his eyes. His metal arm pulled her in suddenly, improving their hold, and he began to dance.

Steve and Natasha had danced precisely, intently, focused on perfecting the relatively simple moves which the instructor had been teaching them. Barnes and Natasha danced with a glowing, expansive energy. They spun off each other like water and silk, rippling like heat waves, flickering like lightning. Steve and Natasha had gradually caught the floor's attention, Barnes and Natasha brought the other couples grating to a halt. And in all of the shadowy wonder of their movements was the most mysterious image of all, flashing in the middle of their blur: Bucky's smile. He was grinning, animated and focused, feeling the memory pulsing under his skin. His mind was stagnant and clumpy, but his muscles remembered everything. In the heat of the dance, he could forget and remember, his mind blocked out the years of winter as his body remembered the spring. Dancing with a pretty girl in an overheated room, whiskey on his breath, his steps sure and confident.

Natasha was a dancer born and bred, but she struggled to keep up with him, mesmerized at how well Tony's plan had worked. Because this had been Stark's plan from the beginning, a chance to shock Bucky back to life and to hope.

Steve watched from a corner of the floor, his own feet as still as they had always been in dance halls like these, but his fingers still loosely clasped in those of Agent 13. His face was calm, but his breathing deep and loud. It was Sergeant Barnes, dancing out there. His hair was long now and the fingers of one hand, protruding from his left sleeve and clasped around Widow's waist, were long and silver. But it was Bucky, his Bucky, again. But now Bucky was dancing with Steve's trusted friend, and many other proven friends stood around, temporarily accepting. Now Steve had danced too, lost in conversation with a truly admirable woman. There was food, drink, music and joy and a burden born in ice slid from Steve's chest for the first time since he had woken up in Times Square. They were alive, he and Bucky. What more could he ask?

Tony was trying to catch his eye across the dance floor, a glowing-faced Pepper snuggled onto his shoulder as she watched the dance, and Tony was smiling, winking. That son of a bitch.

Nat and Bucky danced four dances, and the other couples didn't join in until the last one. Many of them still watched, wide-eyed, over their partners' shoulders. Most tried to emulate the moves Barnes had introduced. Maria Hill volunteered to take over for Nat at the end of the fourth dance, and the spy gladly stepped down. It was a gesture of trust, to take the metal fingers in your own, and stare trustingly into the sharp blue eyes, and to see a partner there, not a threat. Natasha had hoped more people would make that gesture tonight, but Maria was the first and last. Tony stood up soon after, lifting his glass and declaring the dining hall open in the next room. At his words, the music stopped and the voices were silenced and Bucky staggered slightly, blinking hard.

Maria took his arm firmly, supporting him so no one else noticed and whispered. "Are you okay?"

He nodded, jerkily, but his head sagged low on his neck as he returned to himself, his jaw seized and he was breathing hard. Maria was not the one to overreact in this emergency. As Tony pulled Steve up onstage, she gently led his friend to a fire exit, Sam slipping out quietly behind them.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Agent Hill stepped quickly back and Bucky whirled, slamming his fists into the brick wall.

"Alright man, let's take it easy." Sam's voice was low and calm, and Bucky heard it, somewhere far over his head, like a drowning child recognizes its mother's voice.

"We got you, man," Sam continued steadily, snaking his voice out like a lifeline but keeping his body back, offering space. "Hey Maria, could you get someone to send some water out here please?"

Agent Hill looked up, quietly gesturing away three heavily armed guards who had approached silently as they recognized the silver-armed man. "All personnel, stand down," she murmured into her wrist. "Give us some space, guys."

"I'll get it myself," she answered Sam, and ducked inside for some ice water, and a quick word with Pepper. When she came back out, Bucky was sitting on the steps, staring at the ground, and Sam was next to him, one hand delicately resting on his flesh shoulder.

Barnes looked up at her approach and she saw that he looked haggard, but he accepted the water gracefully and sipped a little. "I'm alright," he told them quietly.

Hill crossed her arms and leaned on the wall, "I'm pretty sure Tony was the only one who thought this party was a good idea. I think 'insensitive' was the word most of us were looking for."

Sam glared up at her and she shrugged her eyebrows back at him, but Barnes shook his head. "No. It's good to know that some part of me still remembers… before. With no doubts. I can't always trust my memories. It makes it all – more difficult."

"Does Steve help?" Sam asked.

Bucky chuckled dryly, "Steve keeps me alive. I've heard what he did to find me, everything he sacrificed, the time he spent, the friends." He made an inclusive gesture towards Sam. "Seems like I can't take that away from him now."

"Steve wanted you more than anything from his old life. It would – hurt him very much to lose you again," Sam replied, choosing his words with care.

"Steve wanted his friend," Barnes returned with an ugly smile. "He got me. He deserves more than this, I'm not the one he was searching for."

"No, man. That's not how friendship works." Sam was holding Bucky's shoulder more tightly now. "He knew what was going on when he went to look for you. You two are gonna fight this side-by-side. He knows who you are, even when you don't."

Bucky's head dropped again, heavily, and he took a trembling breath. He looked up in a moment and smiled again, his eyes glittering with water. "Why do I have a feeling this dinner is going to be less comfortable than most? I've tried to kill most everyone at the table, present company included. Some of them I came pretty close."

Sam stood, reaching down to clasp his hand and help him up. "Aw hell, Sergeant. Everyone at that table has tried to kill everyone else at some point or another. That's just a sign that you belong."


	5. Chapter 5

Steve's hand hit the exit door of the ballroom with a force that permanently warped the metal. "I didn't ask to be your guest of honor, Stark!" he shouted, exploding into the alley with a force that caused its occupants to spring back in alarm.

Tony had stepped well back in the doorway, an unusual expression of self-doubt darkening his features. Both men visibly relaxed at the sight of Bucky standing in the alley, seemingly in his right mind. But Steve's rage would not dissipate so easily and he rounded on Sam and Maria. "What are you two doing? I said – I explicitly stated that if anything went wrong I was to be called immediately! Buck, are you okay?"

"I'm fine -

"Steve, I think it's time we all went in to dinner," Sam suggested in cautious tones.

"Excuse me?" Steve honed in on Sam, target acquired. "You don't get to tell him what to do, none of you get to tell him what to do!"

There was silence in the alley for a moment at the men stared each other down, and then Bucky spoke quietly. "Hey pal, I believe he was telling _you_ what to do. And I think it's good advice."

Steve looked at him, stilled by his voice. "You want to go in there again?" he asked, in disbelief.

"I could eat," his friend replied.

Steve sat at the head of the longest table, Sharon and Maria sat at his left and Sam and Bucky on his right. This meant that Sam was the buffer between Steve and Bucky, a role he had instantly noted and resented. He momentarily considered abdicating it, but realized the wisdom of the setup at the last moment.

To Bucky's right sat Scott, who knew no one at the table well, and seemed much more absorbed in staring vacantly at Thor, Natasha and Steve than in making any effort with the food in front of him.

To everyone's relief, Sharon instantly pulled Steve's attention, further calming him until he apologized to Maria and engaged in a nervous conversation with both women, his eyes still pulled to Bucky with paternal ferocity every few seconds. Bucky ate in silence, with a mechanical air that only Steve had grown used to. While Sam joined the agents' conversation with Steve, Scott and Bucky sat alone in their silence, conversation buzzing genially all down the well-filled table.

Scott's eyes had found a new home on Bucky, and the new Avenger ate now with extreme self-consciousness, stealing glances at his companion's metal arm.

Just as Scott had finally screwed up his courage to embark on an opening statement, Bucky enquired, "So you're the other new guy then?"

Scott chuckled nervously. "I don't really know why I was invited. Usually I show up at swank places like this to sneak in the back door and take something."

Bucky turned to him with interest. "So you're a thief?"

Scott bowed as theatrically as he could while sitting down. "Professionally! Well, I guess now I'm sort of an Avenger. I mean, Steve hasn't said the words exactly yet…" He stared longingly down the table.

Bucky stopped suddenly, fork frozen in mid-air. "Steve is in charge here?"

"Well, that's what everyone seems to think. I mean, he does have seniorit - " Scott's levity evaporated instantly as he realized to whom he was speaking, and he cut himself off.

Bucky looked thoughtfully at the man at the head of the table for a minute, while Scott cringed and contemplated his last words.

Then Bucky smiled and muttered, "Not anymore, he doesn't," as he finished taking a bite.

There was a brief pause while Scott put his scattered brain back together and surged back to the conversation again. "So has Steve talked about me, then?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "I know who you are. You're the guy who put on a tiny suit and beat up the Falcon."

Sam Wilson put his fork down with a clatter and whirled on the former assassin. "Excuse me?" He demanded, not without laughter in his voice, as Bucky continued to chew his salad. "You wanna take this outside, metal man? Clint Barton, you promised to tell no one!"

Clint and Darcy were cracking each other up near the other end of the table. "Oh, is this about the 'Antman' thing?" the archer asked, with dramatic air-quotes. "I didn't tell anyone, man! I don't break promises! I mean, I told Natasha, but only under duress."

Sam made an outraged squeak and turned his rage to Nat. "Yeah, then I told everyone," she explained calmly.

"Yeah, she put it on the GroupMe," Tony deadpanned from his corner of the table.

"You guys have – oh hang on now – you guys have a separate GroupMe without me?" Sam demanded.

"I liked the part where he tackles the ground." Darcy mentioned conversationally in a tone the whole table could hear. Looking up and seeing Sam's outraged confusion, she shrugged. "I mean, you know there's security cameras all over Tony's buildings, right?"

Scott understood. Watching the way they glanced at each other, the ease of their laughter and the smile quirking the edge of Sam's rage. They were spreading Bucky's joke intentionally, batting it back and forth between them, each taking a turn to appreciate it. It wasn't much, but it was acceptance. They were making their first effort to include him, to appreciate him.

It was hard to tell how much of this Bucky followed, but his smile stayed on his face this time, his eyes bouncing back and forth to follow the friendly banter. Scott remembered the Howling Commandos videos in the Captain America exhibit in the Smithsonian. He had taken Cassie years ago, on a rare afternoon when Maggie let her go with him. He had liked the way the men in the videos looked at each other, comfortable and smiling, and wondered what it would be like to have that battle-field camaraderie. Bucky had lived with that for so long and then lost it all for much longer. If he could hold it together tonight, he just might find it again here.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony's party had actually been a success, Pepper thought to herself, gazing maternally over the table of dysfunctional heroes. Bucky, the true thermometer of the party, was smiling again, listening to a highly dramatized retelling of the Battle of New York.

Everyone seemed relaxed and sleepy. Jane, heavily jet-lagged from her latest excursion to Africa to oversee the design of a new telescope, had actually fallen asleep on Thor's shoulder. The god listened to Clint's depiction of events with a doubtful and affectionate smile, but glanced down at Jane's peaceful face every few seconds. Pepper never tired of seeing the look on his face when he saw the scientist. His whole frame seemed to relax and focus simultaneously. Whether or not Jane knew it, the hulking Asgardian was wrapped around her smallest finger. Their time spent forcibly apart from each other, as well as the current stress of their long-distance and over-scheduled relationship, had only strengthened and gentled them as a couple. They treasured every hard-fought moment they had with one another. Jane, ever headlong in her pursuit of science, was in Asgard now almost as much as Europe, and both realms regarded the couple with affection and slightly baffled awe. Jane was often run ragged as Earth's most coveted speaker in nearly every scientific field, and Thor's anxiety over his father's recent shift in attitude and behavior only grew, but they found strength and peace in each other. He leaned down and placed a careful kiss on her forehead and Pepper smiled and averted her eyes.

Steve had almost relaxed. He was still watching Bucky out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, but a smile drifted in and out on his face as he did so. Clint's version of the Battle of New York was highly colorized, resulting in him single-handedly rescuing every member of the team at least once, Steve three times, and then riding off into the sunset on a motorcycle with Nick Fury on the back.

Sam was laughing as loud as anyone else when the tale finally came to a close. "See every time I hear that story from anyone else they pretty much sum up your evening as 'needed nine stitches, went to bed early'."

Clint cleared his throat dramatically and leaned across the table. "Sure, Sammy, go ahead and make fun of the soldier for licking his wounds when you were spending your day passed out on the sofa with a can of beer, and decidedly lacking in heroic alien slayage."

Nat leaned over to stage-whisper. "You know, Barton, that whole 'licking your wounds' thing isn't meant to be taken literally."

Clint scraped some chocolate off his dessert plate with a calloused finger. "It was one time, Widow! Do we really need to be bringing up incidents now? Because I've got a few I _know_ not everyone has heard."

Sam's voice, calm and collected, interrupted. "You know, I do remember that day. The Battle of New York? It's not a day that was particularly easy to forget."

The table stilled itself, everyone looking at the soldier with suddenly calm attention.

He scowled down at his plate. "I was visiting my grandmother that day. At her nursing home. The doctors had said she didn't have much time, so I was spending every minute with her I could. I, um, I was sitting by the bed talking to her when she fell asleep. She did that a lot at that point, just drifting off. I turned to look at the TV. There's one in every room in places like that, always muted and flickering in the corner. And I saw, on TV, the sky was open. This giant hole above New York, people screaming, aliens dropping out of the sky like cockroaches off a ceiling."

He paused, glancing around the table grimly. No one spoke.

"And I saw… I saw people. Just a tiny group of people, there in the corners of the cameras, people were fighting back. I recognized Tony's suit of course, but most of you were strangers. Strangers fighting for our world. And I thought… there was just one thought in my mind, crystallized you could say. I thought – who is that lunatic standing in the middle of the carnage with some shitty medieval weapon trying to shoot down aliens on spaceships?"

Everyone groaned simultaneously while Clint shouted with laughter and pegged Sam in the face with a balled-up napkin. Bucky's face had broken into a smile again, bigger than before, but no one was prepared when he suddenly spoke, clearly and quietly. "Steve, do you remember that German archer?"

The table drained of sound again, everyone turning to look at him. Steve paused for a moment, as though the phrase. "Steve, do you remember?" had robbed his voice. Then he smiled. "I do!"

Pepper spoke up out of the silence. "What happened?" she prompted.

Her words were directed at Steve, but it was the sergeant who answered her. "It was one of the early days of us fighting together, the Commandos. We were closing in on some city the Germans had cleared of civilians and were using as a fortress. It was outside of –" his voice stopped quickly and the table hummed with silence as he gazed down at his plate.

This time, Steve jumped in. "Gah, I don't remember! Some tiny German town."

Bucky looked up again. "Anyway, they had some real crack shots in this place, we had a lot of men at our backs and they were just mowing us down anyway. Well I'm not a bad shot myself and we were picking them off, but it made no difference, our men were falling left and right. We figure they have some pretty advanced kraut weaponry set up in there. Didn't take long to realize that most of the fire was coming from one location so Steve heads up to kick down the door of this place and take out the nest and that's when I saw one of the men who had fallen by me."

"An arrow?" Clint asked.

Bucky held up his fingers. "Sticking this far out of his chest, yeah. Just a stick, feathers on the end. This was just some farm kid with a bow, no crack team, no advanced weapons."

Steve's elbow was holding him up, his fingers wrapped around his mouth, his eyes slick and shiny. This was the most Bucky had said since he had been taken in, and it was a story, a story of war and companionship in return for those he had heard. It was a story of humor and surrealism, the kind soldiers tell each other to gloss over the bodies, the panic and chaos. It was one Bucky had told many times before, sometimes around rustling campfires, and once to cluster of girls in a small pub. A story that had been dead for nearly seventy years.

"So what happened to the kid?" Clint asked.

Bucky's eyes were far off. "Steve broke into the room and she whirled around and shot him!"

Steve groaned theatrically at the memory.

"'She'?" Pepper asked.

Bucky smiled. "Fourteen year old girl. Her Dad was long gone, her mom had taken her little brother back behind the lines, or what passed for lines at the time. This girl had skills and she was pressed into the army along with anyone else. She was just a kid, y'know? She wasn't fighting for a cause, she was fighting for her mom and brother. So we took her back to camp and gave her to Carter."

Eyebrows shot up around the table. Everyone knew Peggy Carter, of course. All of them had grown up hearing stories of the warrior woman, Captain America's partner, the occasional Commando. Pepper had spent one Halloween dressed up as her. But they never mentioned the war hero around Steve.

Bucky cleared his throat, apparently having missed the reaction. "We were concerned to leave the girl in the barracks with the men, and Peggy always knew what to do. Never heard anymore from her after that, actually. I'm sure Carter disappeared her, found some place where she could live separate from her heritage. I don't know. We trusted her, is all." He blinked again, seeming to realize where he was, and awkwardly glanced over at Steve as though recognizing the reason for the tension around the table. But Steve just smiled back fondly, and everyone breathed again.

The conversations bubbled up normally again after a few minutes of quiet and murmuring. Everyone seemed anxious to normalize the moment. Bucky slipped back into silence, slowly peeling slivers of chocolate off the artistic and unrecognizable dessert on his plate. It was something Tony insisted had been present in his past life, but he had never had a chance to attend a swanky party like this. At least, not that he remembered. Now that he had allowed the images to return, they glowed fiercely behind his eyes every time he blinked. He saw Peggy's wide, delighted smile she reserved for so few ebbing in and out among pictures of men younger than himself already half rotted in the German forests accompanied with a soundtrack of snapping fires feebly fighting back the dank cold and Steve's shouts of laughter. It was a kaleidoscope he had never had time to process. It was wearying, the reality that if he lived, this would all be baggage for him to sort through alone in the nightmares.

Sam leaned over to him, lowering his voice, and averting his face from Steve. "Hey, tell me about Carter. That's one thing Steve hardly ever talks about."

Bucky pulled himself together. "She was everything you'd think. We'd have caught a bullet for her, any one of us. We did, occasionally. And she caught several in return. But she lit up Steve's face more than anything I'd ever seen. I had some trouble trusting her until he convinced me that she knew him before - " he gestured vaguely towards Steve's body. "I'd never seen anyone interested in him before." He grinned, almost wickedly. "But she looked at him the same way, so I let her in, I guess."

"They made a movie about it," Sam said, conversationally. "No one's had the heart to tell Steve yet, but they made a whole dramatization of their love story, a couple of documentaries too. I'd imagine the real thing was far less sappy."

Bucky shrugged one shoulder, "I don't know. There wasn't much time for sappy. We were all just partners in a world that made no sense. Way too young to be over there, way too excited for the chance. You clung to whatever you found that..." he gestured again, broadly. "That put your feet on the ground again."


End file.
